INDER the cooling shadow of a stately elm,
Close sat I by a goodly river's side,
Where gliding streams the rocks did overwhelm;
A lonely place, with pleasures dignified.
I, once that loved the shady woods so well,
Now thought the rivers did the trees excel,
And if the sun would ever shine, there would I dwell
While on the stealing stream I fixed mine eye,
Which to the longed-for ocean held its course,
I marked nor crooks nor rubs that there did lie,
Could hinder aught, but still augment its force.
"O happy flood," quoth I, "that holdst thy race
Till thou arrive at thy beloved place,
Nor is it rocks or shoals that can obstruct thy pace.
"Nor is't enough that thou alone may'st slide, But hundred brooks in thy clear waves do meet: So hand in hand along with thee they glide
To Thetis' house, where all embrace and greet. Thou emblem true of what I count the bestO could I leave my rivulets to rest! So may we press to that vast mansion ever blest.
"Ye fish which in this liquid region 'bide,
That for each season have your habitation, Now salt, now fresh, when you think best to glide To unknown coasts to give a visitation,
In lakes and ponds you leave your numerous fry
So Nature taught, and yet you know not why-
You wat❜ry folk that know not your felicity!"
Look how the wantons frisk to taste the air,
Then to the colder bottom straight they dive,
Eftsoons to Neptune's glassy hall repair-
To see what trade the great ones there do drive,
Who forage o'er the spacious sea-green field,
And take their trembling prey before it yield, Whose armour is their scales, their spreading fins thev shield.
While musing thus with contemplation fed,
And thousand fancies buzzing in my brain,
The sweet-tongued Philomel perched o'er my head,
And chanted forth a most melodious strain,
Which rapt me so with wonder and delight,
I judged my hearing better than my sight,
And wished me wings with her a while to take my flight
"O merry bird," said I, "that fears no snares;
That neither toils nor hoards up in thy barn;
Feels no sad thoughts, nor 'cruciating cares
To gain more good, or shun what might thee harm Thy clothes ne'er wear, thy meat is everywhere, Thy bed a bough, thy drink the water clear,
Reminds not what is past, nor what's to come dost fear.
"The dawning morn with songs thou dost prevent Sets hundred notes unto thy feathered crew;
So each one tunes his pretty instrument,
And warbling out the old, begins anew,
And thus they pass their youth in summer season,
Then follow thee into a better region,
Where winter's never felt by that sweet airy legion."
Man's at the best a creature frail and vain,
In knowledge ignorant, in strength but weak; Subject to sorrows, losses, sickness, pain,
Each storm his state, his mind, his body break From some of these he never finds cessation,
But day or night, within, without, vexation,
froubles from foes, from friends, from dearest, near'st relations.
And yet this sinful creature, fraii and vain,
This lump of wretchedness, of sin and sorrow,
This weather-beaten vessel racked with pain,
Joys not in hope of an eternal morrow;
Nor all his losses, crosses, and vexation,
In weight, in frequency, and long duration,
Can make him deeply groan for that divine translation.
The mariner that on smooth waves doth glide,
Sings merrily, and steers his bark with ease,
As if he had command of wind and tide,
And were become great master of the seas,
But suddenly a storm spoils all the sport,
And makes him long for a more quiet port,
Which 'gainst all adverse winds may serve for fort.
So he that saileth in this world of pleasure,
Feeding on sweets, that never bit of the sour, That's full of friends, of honour, and of treasure—
Fond fool! he takes this earth e'en for heaven's bower.
But sad affliction comes, and makes him see
Here's neither honour, wealth, nor safety:
Only above is found all with security.
O Time, the fatal wrack of mortal things,
That draws Oblivion's curtains over kings—
Their sumptuous monuments men know them not,
Their names without a record are forgot,
Their parts, their ports, their pomps, all laid i' the dust-
Nor wit, nor gold, nor buildings, 'scape Time's rust;
But he whose name is graved in the white stone,
Shall last and shine when all of these are gone
Benjamin Thomson.
NEW ENGLAND'S CRISIS.
HE times wherein old Pompion was a saint,
When men fared hardly, yet without complaint On vilest cates: the dainty Indian-maize
Was eat with clamp-shells out of wooden trayes,
Under thatched huts, without the cry of rent,
And the best sawce to every dish, content.
When flesh was food and hairy skins made coats,
And men as well as birds had chirping notes;
When Cimnels were accounted noble blood,
Among the tribes of common herbage food,
Of Ceres' bounty formed was many a knack,
Enough to fill poor Robin's Almanack,
These golden times (too fortunate to hold)
Were quickly sin'd away for love of gold.
'Twas then among the bushes, not the street,
If one in place did an inferior meet,
"Good-morrow, brother, is there aught you wan
Take freely of me, what I have you ha'nt."
Plain Tom and Dick would pass as current now,
As ever since, "Your servant, Sir," and bow.
Deep-skirted doublets, puritanick capes,
Which now would render men like upright apes,
Were comelier wear, our wiser fathers thought,
Than the last fashions from all Europe brought.
'Twas in those dayes an honest grace would hold,
Till an hot pudding grew at heart a cold,
And men had better stomachs at religion,
Than I to capon, turkey-cock, or pigeon;
When honest sisters met to pray, not prate,
About their own and not their neighbour's state.
During Plain Dealing's reign, that worthy stud.
Of the ancient planters' race before the flood,
Then times were good, merchants cared not a rush
For other fare than jonakin and mush.
Although men fared and lodged very hard,
Yet innocence was better than a guard.
'Twas long before spiders and worms had drawn
Their dingy webs, or hid with cheating lawne
New England's beautys, which still seemed to me
Illustrious in their own simplicity.
'Twas ere the neighbouring Virgin-Land had broke
The hogsheads of her worse than hellish smoak.
'Twas ere the Islands sent their presents in,
Which but to use was counted next to sin.
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